burnout

000: An Era of Hope

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Daily writing prompt
What cities do you want to visit?
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Across space and time, near and far, fictional worlds and battlefield scars.
The quiet places no one knows. The bleeding hearts and the broken homes.

I want to see the grief, the pain, the broken bone. Shattered buildings and crumbling roads.
Show me the shelters that were heaven within hell. The tears that flowed like invisible blood, unknown.

“That’s morbid.” “That’s fake.” “What’s the cost of compassion these days?”
And to you I say nothing, because my words aren’t for you.

They’re for the ones still struggling.
I know there’s more than a few.

I stand to say, I’m here.
I’m with you.
You’re not crazy, or insane.
Your reality isn’t fake.

I hear you.
Your screams into the void.
You’re late-night cries.
The fear of the monsters lurking within your head.

Show me every inch you had to survive.
Tell me how it cut you and bled you dry like wine.

Tell me your story, every suffering word.
I will stand silent guard, watching as you burn.

And in the ashes, as my soul shatters under the weight of your life,
I’ll gather you in my arms, and hug through the night.

You’re perfect. You’re pure. It was never your fault.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry you ever felt so small.

I’m here. I know I’m late.
I never knew how much you hurt.
I know how much easier it would be to hate.

I’m proud of you.
There is no higher truth.
Surviving is brutal.
None of this is easy to do.

And yet, you’re here. Still breathing.
Still going. Somehow holding.

You’re fighting the fight. You’re saying this isn’t right.
You sincerely give a fuck, refusing to unsee the plight.

So burn to ash, my darling, baby phoenix. Rest your weary soul.
I’ve got this watch. And when the morning comes…
know you’ll burn like a star, becoming someone’s sun.

Your life matters more than you know.
There’s only one you. No one else has your glow.

Show me the cities hidden in your skin, the Romes no one knows.
The trauma and grief. Each and every shattered window.

Lay out all your pieces so we can make you whole.
From broken to art, stained glass can play a part.

You’re gorgeous. Handsome. Every single word.
Every wonderful thing and every unmarked tomb.

A contradiction. A paradox. A human to be sure. And yet…

At the core…

In the dark, alone, fighting not to give up…
It’s not Courage or Strength… no neither of them show up.

It’s the soft whispered sounds.
It is a gently clasped hand.
It’s the phone call that’s answered.
It’s the note that’s reread.

Hope. Connection. Unity. Having a common thread.
A single thing, a signal in an endless abyss.

Even here, even now, you’ve never been alone in this.

So rest, fierce dragon, brave knight, fair lady.
Mythic fey, epic creature.
Let sleep hold you as Hope softly sings her song.

Know your story matters.
Each chapter a stanza.
Every impact a note.
Pauses are part of the piece.
It -is- ok to take a breath.

You are a piece of art.
All great things take time.
Your story isn’t over.
And I promise you, neither is mine.

Embrace the ash. Sink into the rest.
That’s where your gains come from. When you stop trying to pass a test.

You’re already an achiever.
And it’s ok if you didn’t know.
So…
be fore I let you go…

Here’s a gold star. I made it just for you.
From one survivor to another, because trust me. I see you.

I know the effort. I know the cost.
I know the wounds you still carry,
even if it’s not mentioned in our talks.

This is for breathing.
For existing. Not for what you do.
You’ve earned it, simply by being here.
By being you.

So go on, little snowflake.
Be your special flavor of fun.
The world needs more of you.
Please tell me your story isn’t done.

Tell me about the rebuild.
The stand-up.
The moment you choose to keep going.
Take that step out into the unknown.

Once you wake, and there’s sun, and you see the morning light.
Let the ground greet your feet. Let it support your height.

Stand tall for but a moment.
Let pride fill your chest.
A rainbow of emotions for to be living is to be blessed.

Honor the ones we’ve lost. The versions you had to lay to rest.
Acknowledge where you are, even if it hurts.
And hold hope, ever gently; tenderly so close.

Welcome to Earth, on this wonderful new day.
There may be gray clouds, so let me be the ray.
The one who greets you, who banishes away the night.
The one who says, I’m glad you showed up another day to fight the good fight.

Let us clasp hands, a silent pledge between brethren. Of chosen family and tribal home.
We’re in this to win it. We’re booting up version 2.0.

Now go be a Force of Awesome.
Spread confetti glitter made of cheer.
Make someone disgruntled with your joy.
Take up space.
Raise your voice in song.
Do all of the things we should have been doing all along.

Rage. Grieve. Bitch and burn to ash.
Then step into a new era. The one you deserved.
The one that’s your birthright.
The one where you belong, because everyone deserves a home.

I believe in you. <3
With respect,
Aven

Evening Reflection 011: The Madwomen

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Weekend Summary:
I lost my writing streak. I was so close to two weeks. While losing my streak doesn’t feel the best, I can’t deny that I loved and enjoyed my weekend. Friday night I wrote. Instead of cross stitching, I curled into bed next to Ox. I was finally able to sleep elevated since we have a billion pillows at the house. It was amazing. I slept deeply, content the few times I did wake up to find Dagger sleeping on my abdomen, his tiny chest rising and falling as he slept with me. 

Saturday wasn’t the “best” day. Even though I woke up feeling ok, I started feeling fatigued again. I did some research into “long-covid”. One of the first things I read was, “Your fatigue is real”. 

That one sentence was actually surprisingly helpful and reassuring. I keep wondering if I’m just “man-flu”ing my symptoms. I can’t be THAT tired. I SHOULD be more recovered. Only… that’s not true. Fatigue is real, and the best thing I can do for my body is to let it rest when it tells me it’s tired. 

So that’s what I did Saturday. I took a nap when I felt like I needed to. I didn’t give myself shit for not jumping straight into task list annihilation mode. When I woke up I slowly started doing things, ever mindful of how I was feeling.

I ended up dying my hair. I showered and it wasn’t just a quick “I need to shower” type of shower. I allowed myself to enjoy the experience. I shaved and cared for my body. I scrubbed my feet, which I’m sure isn’t the sexy feminine ideal that society brainwashes us into having. 

I used to scrub my feet all the time. When I worked at DaVita and was on my feet for 12+ hours a day, I would scrub them more to help ease the pain I felt. I had plantar fasciitis. Waking up in the morning sucked because those first initial steps out of bed felt like searing iron coursing down the ball of my foot into my toes. Scrubbing helped the mornings suck not as much, though there was always, ALWAYS, some degree of pain.

As my plantar fasciitis healed, I didn’t scrub my feet as much. I didn’t need to. But then the calluses on my feet started getting bad. I could feel it in the way the rough skin on the bottom of my feet would catch on the sheets. I could feel the sand-papery sensation and it bothered me. It wasn’t what I was used to. It wasn’t “normal”. And yet, every time I was in the shower I would think about how now my feet were “high maintenance” and rather than doing something about it I would punish my feet for wanting attention by not giving it to them. 

Well, Saturday, during my self-care shower, instead of bitching out my feet, I actually gave them the attention they needed and deserved. My feet have taken me literally everywhere I have gone in my life. They weren’t being “high maintenance” they were asking for regular, normal maintenance and I was being an asshole. 

Why? 

Because they were feet? Because they weren’t “supposed” to need anything? Because it didn’t conform with the false reality that it’s not feminine or sexy to pay attention to something as gross as feet?

Fuck that. My feet deserve to be scrubbed. They deserve attention just like every other part of my body. There’s nothing gross about feet that are cared for. My feet shouldn’t be in pain to be worthy of my attention. So I scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. 

With how much I had already one before setting about the scrub task, I was pretty exhausted by the time my shower was done. Curse you, Fatigue. It felt worth it though. I felt more connected with myself. I felt like I had actually done something to care for myself. It felt like I was actually, finally, “in my corner” like I keep telling myself I am.

I wasn’t able to sleep Saturday night. Instead, I stayed up and cross-stitched in the living room while Ox slept. Dagger kept me company while I listened to a new book. Burnout by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was interesting. It helped explain what I experienced during my last months at DaVita. It also explained why certain things seem to work for coping and why other things don’t. It talked about the neuroscience behind those things and since the book is read by the authors you get to hear them geek out over the science. 

I didn’t go to sleep until after 5am. Papa and Mama Ox were already awake. I slept for roughly 4 hours before waking up to have breakfast with the family. It was a super tasty and warm breakfast, after which I laid back down. Ox let me sleep. Eventually, I got up. I cross-stitched more. I showered. I scrubbed my feet again and this time it wasn’t a super huge involved ordeal.  We had dinner. I stitched more. Eventually, it was bedtime. I had a hard time falling asleep so I took melatonin. And that was most of my weekend. 

I got caught up, for the most part, with my Synthroid. I know that’s going to take a little bit to get into my body. I might not have hit the true slump from being behind so much. I’ll get through it though. Today is also the last day of Zoloft for me. I’m looking forward to that. Ox is off work and headed home and my day is about to truly begin. 

I’m grateful for the weekend I had, full of cat cuddles and acceptance, peace and quietness. It was what I didn’t know I needed. 

Daily Summary:
Today was a surprisingly nice day. I woke up with Ox to see him off to work. I went back to sleep with the cats after he left. Woke up again. Took my meds. Chatted with John before writing my weekend summary and taking a shower. Ox was done with work and home by then. We decided to do lunch together only to find out the place we had originally planned to go is closed on Mondays.

We ended up going to Subway instead. I also went to the gas station to put gas in the car and get energy drinks for the week. Ox and I ate outside, enjoying the relatively nice day. The wind wasn’t too bad. The sun was out. It wasn’t super cold. It was a very connective experience and I’m glad we were able to share it together before the weather turned shitty.

We even had some philosophical conversation as we shared a post-meal cigarette. : 3

I drove from Subway to Micheal’s to get some more thread for my project. They didn’t have it. Instead of falling into the pit of disappear, I called Ox. Maybe he would know of another craft store close by. He said with the time I had remaining before work, it most likely wouldn’t be possible for me to get to the other stores. He suggested Walmart since they do, technically, have a shitty craft section. 

I agreed it couldn’t hurt to look. Walmart is on the way back to the apartment. Maybe they would have it. Maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, it wasn’t out of the way so why not try? 

Well… they didn’t have it. : (

That’s ok though. I can try again tomorrow. I did pick up a yard of fabric while I was at Walmart. I want to make something… I need an iron… Super secret project. Dun dun DUUUUUUUUNNNNN!

I returned to the apartment. Unpacked the bag that I took to the house with me. Took out the containers of food from the freezer along with a bag of chicken. I got ready for work and proceed to have a chill day. 

I did get a call 3 minutes before my lunch break. That wouldn’t have been so bad except I was on that call for 50 minutes. ;-;

Once I was finally able to go to break I unloaded the dishwasher, cooked up my breakfast burrito mix, and started the chicken baking. 

I finished listening to Burnout and printed out the PDF sheets the book mentioned. I haven’t done a lot of the sheets. I’m not sure how to yet. Rather… I’m not in a place to utilize a lot of them. I don’t feel I’m having a hard time making a decision. I haven’t figured out my “smash the patriarchy” yet. 

The sheets I did work on revolved around my “ideal” schedule. Now that I have a consistent schedule, I can actually try to structure my days. This is the second day in a row that I haven’t had a fatigue spell. I’m hoping tomorrow is more of the same and I can start trying out this “ideal” schedule. It seems nice in my head. Until I put it into practice I won’t know how it needs to be modified. 

I started listening to a new book. Verbal Judo by George J. Thompson and Jerry B. Jenkins. I’m not very far into it so I don’t have much of an opinion. 

I’ve already cleaned up the kitchen. Washed the pans I used. Wiped down the counters. I’m going to finish the last thread I have before curling into bed and calling today good. Tomorrow might be a little on the busy side before work, but I’m looking forward to it. Hopefully, my energy levels align and it turns into a day of wonderful productivity. Hopefully, this post covid stuff is done. 

Random Ramblings:
One of the things that struck me most about the book Burnout was what Emily and Amilia called “the madwoman in the attic”. Essentially we all have an inner critic that is always hyper-aware of what we’re doing wrong. It’s our “ideal” self. The self we feel like we’re “supposed” to be. Perfect. Flawless. The unrealistic us society forced into our brain to make us feel like crap when we end up being human in an imperfect world. 

I’ve put a lot of thought into this section of the book. I know I have a madwoman in my head, but I couldn’t figure out if it was just one… or if I had two…

I used to write about the two sides of my mind, way, way back in the day. My irrational right brain is my 4-8-year-old self who is always throwing a fit and my logical left brain who I see as a scientist with rimmed glasses scribbling away on her clipboard. 

To me, the child is my id and the scientist my superego. And then there’s me, the ego, constantly trying to get the two to play nice and understand each other. By the way… that job is fucking mentally exhausting. 

Looking at the two sides from the lens of “the madwoman” perspective, I think I’m starting to understand those two better. I understand why mine most likely split instead of remaining as a single entity like it is portrayed in the book. Maybe other people are like me with multiple “madwomen”. I don’t know. All I know is what feels right for me, and for me, I see them as two different personas because they protect two different areas of myself. 

It made me wonder when the split happened and why. 

I don’t know when the little girl emerged. I know I’ve written about her consciously in writings since mom’s death. I don’t know if she predates that. I don’t know at what point my irrational right brain formed into something I could visualize that way. Maybe always. Maybe she was there shortly after dad left and I ignored her, forcing her to sit in timeout for years while I drifted aimlessly through the depression of not being good enough. Maybe I neglected her for a really long time. Maybe she was there through all of the shitty relationships I was in and that was why those relationships felt so shitty; because I wasn’t protecting her any more than I was protecting myself. 

What I know is this is who she is now. She is the part of my consciousness that represents my worthiness, preciousness, my softness, my care, my love, my desire to do good and to make people happy. 

She is also my vulnerability. She is the me without armor. She is the me that needs love and nurturing and affection because those ARE needs. 

She lets me know when we have hurt someone or someone has hurt us. She lets me know when we’re lonely, which is different from the desire to be alone and to have solitude. She lets me know when I have gone too long without a hug or a connective conversation or experience. She lets me know when reality is different from the ideal I feel I should be living. 

She is the me which rages at injustice and cries when the world is cruel. She is the me who is hotheaded and willful and fuck armor I don’t need armor! I will destroy you with my bare hands because how dare you think you can treat people that way! She is so full of righteous fury sometimes and hellbent on proving her point that it doesn’t matter that she is small. She will make the world see right because how hard is it to be kind? Why, why can’t people just… not be assholes?

And then there’s my scientist. I feel I have a better understanding of when she developed. Around the time I turned 13 I think. She is my logic and facts. She’s the one who peers over her rimmed glasses and informs my child-me that throwing a fit and being angry or crying isn’t going to change anything. She’s the one with charts and data and research articles worth of information supporting or disproving why something is right or wrong. 

Emotions mean very little to my scientist. The only thing she truly cares about are facts, numbers, statistics, probabilities, backup plans, task lists, visual progress, structure, procedures…. 

She lets me know when I’m “being irrational” or “emotional”. She loves letting me know when we’re “behind schedule” or “being unproductive”. She’s also amazingly awesome at letting me know when “being emotional” is dumb. 

She’s not warm and supportive. She’s very distant and detached. She is an observer and she informs me about hard truths. She’s also really good at planning and seeing patterns in behavior and calling shit because she has pages and pages and pages of unconscious information scribbled down on her clipboard. In a way, she’s my intuition. I don’t have access to all her notes, but she does and she knows how shits going to go down and I should trust her and if I don’t she’s going to do that “peering over the rim of her glasses” thing with that “look” when something goes the way she said it would. She doesn’t have to say “I told you so”. She wouldn’t sully her perfect scientific demeanor by doing something so petty. I almost wish she would because fuck that look! I know I should have listened to you, alright! For fucks sake, not everyone can be perfect know it alls like you!

She is a quick learner and one super smart cookie, even if she’s not the friendliest person. 

They both serve a role within the landscape of who I am and how I’m supposed to interact within the world. I understand now why it’s so hard for them to get along. The scientist invalidates my child’s emotions and my child doesn’t care about the numbers and logic. 

I’ve always felt these two beings were at war with each other and I am the field on which they waged battle.

Maybe it’s because I’m seeing this scene with older eyes that I realize it’s not a war but a misunderstanding. How can a child wage war and why would a scientist want to?

They both want understanding, respect, and validation. 

It’s not a battle, it’s miscommunication and it’s a miscommunication because I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how to communicate. It wasn’t either of them doing something wrong or being incompatible. It was me not listening.

My inner child was crying out about how she didn’t like the way she was being treated and yet I stayed. My scientist was giving me rational arguments and yet I ignored what she said was a red flag. 

And when my child cries it should not be my scientist talking to her. It should be me; 30-year-old emotionally intelligent me. I should be the one to hug her and ask her why she is upset because I understand her emotions. My child does not need a scientist to look at the situation and say there’s no visual reason to be upset so stop crying. 

I’m not sure I have it all figured out in my head. Maybe my scientist is the “madwoman” but I don’t think so. She means well. She is trying to help me survive just as much as my inner child. They both want me to be safe and loved and to be the best version of myself I can be. 

They both serve a purpose and my purpose is to understand them. So I’m trying to. I don’t feel like I have a lot of experience in understanding either of them. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to understand with empathy. I’ve always tried to control both of them. You! Be less emotional. And you! Be less of an unfeeling bitch. I’ve never looked at what they needed or wanted or what their strengths were; how they bettered me as a person. It was always me bitching about how they made my mental landscape hell. 

Maybe if I didn’t ignore them, maybe if I listened to what they were trying to tell me, they wouldn’t have to wage war to be heard…

Daily Post 001: Starting 2022 With an Apology

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First post of 2022. That means Daily Post numbers reset. Woo. At the same time… I only wrote 10 times last year… That’s something to reflect on at a later time.

For right now, let us start off with the most obvious INFJ thing to do… apologizing. XD

I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you and it was unfair of me to use those words when cursing you out in my previous post. I’m not sorry I called you a mother fucking son of a whore because sometimes you are one. But I am sorry that I lashed out and used inaccurate words to express my feelings of frustration and helplessness. You do not deserve hate; after all, you’re only doing your job even if during the moment it makes you look like an insensitive bastard.

I do love you and I appreciate all of the good things you have given me and allowed me to experience.

Hugs and Kisses – A slightly Less Rage-Filled Dragon

I felt better after writing. I talked to my therapist about it during our session Monday evening. She was proud that I utilized a healthy and effective coping mechanism to release the emotions rather than keeping them bottled up inside or potentially doing something less than healthy. I didn’t write for people to be proud of me. In all honesty, it’s a bit of a struggle not to feel shame when rereading some of my words. At the same time, I know what I felt, and I know I’m not alone in those feelings.

We all, at some point, reach a breaking point. That’s human and I would rather not feel shame for being human; after all, there’s not much I can do about that. I can either accept that sometimes I act with less than perfect grace or spend my life resenting myself for something that can’t be changed. That sounds like a waste of energy, so I would rather acknowledge that it happened, apologize to the offended parties and reflect on how I could have handled the situation differently in hopes of doing so in the future.

Moving on to the other concerning issue of my last post… The kids and all family members are feeling fine. No one has had symptoms of covid. Christmas was enjoyable. Lil’ Ox loved the puzzle I got for her. We put it together Friday evening. For me, it was only 300 pieces, but that’s the biggest puzzle she’s done so far. Everyone was impressed that we were able to complete it in one sitting. It was an enjoyable experience and I’m glad I was able to spend time one-on-one with her.

She wasn’t a huge fan of the makeup palette I got her, but she did like the sparkily snowflake nails. Maybe she’s still too young for makeup, maybe she’ll never like makeup; either is ok. If it’s not something she’s interested in there’s nothing wrong with that. I try to instill in her the knowledge that she’s perfect the way she is. The makeup was simply a gift if she wanted to play around with it; it wasn’t an obligation.

I spent the majority of the week at the apartment. It’s hard being away from the cats. I have grown to love them, which may sound weird, but it was part of the healing process for me. I got them specifically because I was having a hard time trusting and loving after mom’s death. I knew eventually the kittens would teach me how to love again and they have. So now, being away from them is hard. It’s quiet, lonely even, at the apartment by myself. It’s hard being away from Ox as well. Maybe things will change in the near future with my lease ending at the end of May, but for now, during the week I stay at the apartment most nights and try to get as many Cat Cuddles in during the weekend.

Cessation has been going well. I was at around six yesterday. Six when before I was doing 30 or more. I’m proud of myself. I’ve been reading Atomic Habits by James Clear and listening to The Easy Way to Stop Smoking by Allen Carr. Both books have interesting points and insight into human behavior. Both books have given me much to think about and reflect on.

Part of what I’ve struggled with, during the end of my time with DaVita and even into the present with Nelnet, is returning to habits I once had. There’s a lot of emotion wrapped up with everything. Shame, guilt, fear, feelings of being a failure… All sorts of stuff. Atomic Habits especially gives me clarity on why some things work and others don’t as far as habits are concerned and where the obstacles I am facing may be stemming from.

I think a lot of it comes down to uncertainty about my identity. Who am I? What do I stand for? What are my beliefs?

That had basically eroded away to nothing by the time I left DaVita, and without my previous job defining me, I had nothing to go off of aside from the feelings of burnout I was left with. Not much of a resource when you’re trying to figure out who you are, what’s important to you, or what you want your purpose in Life to be.

If I tell myself I’m a failure, that’s on me. That’s me allowing myself to assume the identity of a failure, even if I don’t want that identity. Our brain believes what it hears, especially when it comes from our internal voices.

I am not a failure. I am not weak.

I am extremely strong-willed and capable. I am a warrior. I am a fierce dragon. I am loving, compassionate, committed, and determined.

This isn’t a “new year, new me” mentality. It just happens that I began reading these books at the end of 2021 and am writing now in 2022. This was happening not because of the new year. It was happening in spite of it being a new year.

My current goal is to work on my daily habits/routines; especially those regarding the morning and evening. I need that structure back in my life, and while I have haphazardly stumbled and fumbled my way back to some of my pre-DaVita normalcy, there’s still a lot that is found lacking.

I have my sheet created, not only of habits I already do, but the habits I want to return back to, why I want to go back to them, and how/where I can fit them into my currently unstable routine to ensure they get completed.

I’ve unknowing been working on environmental architecture; arranging the apartment in ways that reduce the friction for certain tasks. Since I’m working from home, part of that architecture has been designating specific areas for specific tasks. “This is purely work”, “This is only for sleep”, “This is only for working out”

It would be easier to separate things if I wasn’t keeping my brothers room off-limits. He moved out a while ago to be with his partner, but he still pays half of the rent, so I’ve kept the room for him. Having a whole extra room would be nice and helpful, but for now, I’m doing alright with what I have. Bit by bit I’m arranging things the way I want and that not only feels good but visually having order and structure helps calm my brain. It gives me a sense of security. Everything has a place and is in that place. All is right in the Dragon Den.

So yeah, I’ve unknowingly been doing some of the suggested things in the books. Others I’m now consciously aware of, which means I can consciously leverage those concepts in my life rather than being pleased when unconscious intuition turns out right.

On the subject of consciousness… When I step outside for a cigarette now I have a new habit; one which I am hoping will deter me from the habit because it now has a “negative” reward.

Which… all of that goes into what Atomic Habits is about. We do something because the “reward” at the end is something we want. Turn it into something we don’t want and we no longer want to perform the actions which lead to the “reward”.

So… whenever I have a cigarette I take a red sharpie and I slash a line over my wrist.

I know that may sound extreme, but hear me out on this…

When I was in high school I self-harmed as a way to cope. I didn’t talk about my feelings. I internalized them, and cutting became my method for releasing the emotions. Fast-forward to my first healthy relationship; my partner did not want me to self-harm.

Completely understandable. I didn’t want to self-harm to begin with. I didn’t want to feel worthless, unseen, unloved, and all of the other things I was feeling. I wanted to be able to share my emotions. I wanted to be able to trust people and feel connected and like I had value.

That lead to me promising not only my partner but also other extremely important people in my life (who continue to be important people in my life) that I wouldn’t self-harm. I would reach out and talk about what I was feeling before hurting myself. I learned that hurting myself hurt others and though conversations may be hard and there would more than likely be lots of tears, I felt better after talking with safe people than I did when I hurt myself.

This brings us to the past few days of reading and meditating.

Smoking sucks. For lots of reasons. And if we look at cutting versus smoking, smoking is way way worse than cutting ever was. So each time I step out and have a smoke, I’m effectively self-harming. The only difference is cutting gives you a visual cue that you’ve done something. You have a reminder that “hey, you did this thing that you said you wouldn’t do”.

Smoking doesn’t have that. At least, for me, it didn’t until now.

My red lines are my reminders that I choose to dishonor myself. I choose to light up and inhale poison into my body. It was a choice. No one made me do it. Choices have consequences, even if they are long-term and do not affect my present.

I now have a way to visually see what I am doing to myself. I am hurting myself. I am breaking my promises. And by hurting myself I am hurting those that I care most about.

I know some people may feel that my method is a bit extreme, and I agree. It is extreme. It’s most likely not a method for everyone. It doesn’t have to be for everyone. It needs to be for myself. When I think of how many marks my arms would be covered with had I done this from the beginning, I’m saddened. I have hurt myself so much for so long. It makes me realize that smoking, for me, was a cry for help.

“Help. I can’t do this on my own. Help. I don’t know how to cope with how I feel. Help. I hurt. Help. I’m scared of this social situation. Help. Help.”

Every time I stepped out to smoke at work it was to try to get just a few minutes to hear my own thoughts. Or when mom died; it was how I could get away from people and hurt alone because I didn’t know how to hurt around others. Not at that intensity anyway.

I am sorry for my past self. I am sorry I wasn’t there for her. I’m sorry I didn’t listen more when she said she wanted to quit.

So yeah… That’s what a lot of my weekend has been. Listening to how I can get back to my life and figuring out how to make the negative choices I’m making more apparent and real.

I’ve been cross-stitching a little bit. I’m hoping to finish the pattern I’m working on today. I haven’t colored since earlier in the week, but I’m ok with that. I have my projects with me if I feel the urge to work on them at some point. I would like to finish at least one of the books I’m reading, which I can do while I stitch.

It’s a cold day today. It snowed last night, which lead to a spat with my brother about New Year’s plans. That’s a writing for a different day. Maybe tomorrow. For now, I’m going to have breakfast with the family and be content with a quiet day.

Again, I’m sorry, Universe. I don’t really hate you. I love you, truly, even if you are a mother fucking son of a whore sometimes.

007: Confronting Burnout

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I’ve been reading a lot about burnout. I guess because I’m there. I’m past there. Since about the second or third week of June I have worked 5 days a week.

That might not sound like a lot. After all, the rest of society works five days a week. Why should I be burnt out over a “normal” work schedule.

It’s not a normal schedule though. I wake up at 2 am on the days I work. I work 10 to 12 hours on the days I work. I all EMS on the days I work. I have to make wellness checks when patients don’t show up to treatment or answer their phones when we try to call. I have to be told by the Sargent that our patient was found deceased in their home. That I’ll never be able to joke with her again; never tell her stories about the kittens or what Ox and I got done on the addition. I’m an introvert constantly empathizing and caring and giving while barely getting enough sleep to keep myself healthy.

I am so out of touch with myself that I don’t know how to care for myself anymore, and I allowed it to happen.

My former supervisor went on vacation for two weeks. During that time I lost 5 patients. Some withdrew from treatment, deciding to go do palliative care instead. Some actually died, as was the case with the wellness check. One moved out of state, but I’ve been so present in our sister clinic that I never got to say goodbye to him before he left.

On top of that, my brother also went on vacation. I knew it would be hard when he left, but I didn’t know I would have panic attacks and feel mom’s death all over again while still having to go to work and hold my shit together.

A couple of Tuesdays ago, I hit my breaking point. I was training a new teammate. We were on the floor taking care of patients. One of my coworkers came on the floor, took one look at me, and asked in an extremely concerned voice, “Are you ok?”

Out of all of the responses I could have given her, all of the things I could have said, I didn’t have it in me to lie; not to myself, not to her. Not to anyone.

“No. I’m not,” I said, on the verge of tears.

We stepped off the floor and I ended up crying in her office explaining how I was exhausted, how I had so much loss that no one could prepare for and the panic attacks due to Jon’s absence.

I’m only human and each of us can only handle so much and I had reached my limit. After emotionally dealing with so much with so little reprieve or self-care I had finally reached the point where I literally couldn’t give anymore because the only then I had left to give was tears.

That coworker ended up covering the rest of my shift that day. I went home and slept for hours. When I woke up I ate then went back to sleep. The next day I went back to work and was able to function.

My former supervisor heard about my break. When she got back from vacation she sent me a text asking me to call her when I had time.

“I wanted to make sure you are ok.” It was so good to hear her voice. It was so connecting to have someone reach out with genuine concern. As I sat outside smoking too many cigarettes, tears silently running down my face I told her everything that had been going on. I told her how I felt like I wasn’t doing anything to create a culture change in our sister clinic. It felt like the only thing I was doing was working more and living less and that I didn’t know how to live anymore. I didn’t know myself. I didn’t have the energy or drive to do any of the things I used to love to do. No cross-stitching, no working out, no dojo.

Nothing.

Just work, sleep, followed by more work.

It’s sucked. It’s sucked so much and now it all feels pointless.

Working 50+ hours for over two months has put a huge strain on my relationship with Ox. It’s left me with nothing to give to our relationship.

My former boss asked if she could have a conversation on my behalf with our new FA. She said she felt like I needed to be back in my home clinic for a while to rebalance. That I needed to work less and be in a familiar environment with familiar people and away from the drama and chaos that is our sister clinic.

She said she is always here for me. I asked, “Even when you’re on vacation?” To which she replied. “Absolutely. Even when I’m on vacation.”

I felt loved after our conversation, much like I felt loved and cared for when my coworker finished out the five hours I had left on my shift. I felt like a person and like I mattered to someone, anyone. That I wasn an invisible cog, replaceable and insignificant. People in my life cared about my emotional, mental, and physical wellbeing and they were actively helping me, not just giving me pretty words about holding on or digging deep or “It will be ok”.

I want a consistent schedule again. I want my three days. I want my days off. I want my routines and quiet moments. I want time away from people and saving lives. I want the energy to save my own.

I want so many things but mostly it comes back to, “I want to be left alone.” I want to not problem solve. I want to turn off my emotional system. I want to disconnect so all of the damage from overworking and begin to heal. I know it’s going to be an extremely slow process. I know it’s going to take a while to recover from what I let the past few months be.

I also know it needs to happen. I need the space and time to be tired, to sleep, to slowly regain energy and drive and purpose again. After that step, I’ll need time to begin returning to the habits that I know are good for me. Working out. Eating well. Sleeping deeply for enough hours. Keeping up with chores and my personal environments. Things that help me feel like I have autonomy and like I’m an adult able to function and cope with life.

I want to get off my antidepressants. I want a life where I don’t have to be on them to cope with burnout. I want work to be sustainable and realistic. I want to have experiences and run mud obstacle 5ks. I want a dojo where I can spare and laugh and learn and be part of something larger than myself. I want to stop smoking but right now it’s my only way to get away from people; to get off the floor, so I keep doing it.

I’ve reached out to another coworker today asking for the contact information for her therapist. I feel like I’m back at the point I was at when mom died. There’s so much not right in my life that I don’t know where to start. I don’t need someone to fix my problems. I need someone to listen; to be a safe place where I can talk, where I have a whole hour devoted to myself where I can start to figure out and untangle things.
Where I can get an outside perspective and other ideas I might not have thought to try.

I don’t need someone to fix my life. Only I can do that. I need the time to figure out how to do that and the resources that will make my efforts successful.

I have today and tomorrow off from work. I haven’t had two days off in a row for so long. The thought of that much time makes me want to cry in relief but at the same time fills me with anxiety. I don’t know what to do if I’m not at work, and that’s so sad and heartbreaking to say.

How can one not know what to do outside of work? How does someone not have a hobby or passion or an idea of what would make them feel ok?

I don’t know. I really don’t know how I let myself get here, but here is where I am.

Ox has been supportive today. Well… he’s supportive every day, but today we both didn’t work. We were both home. We did chores together. We put clothes away, together. We organized things, together. We were together through all of it and that made it feel doable. I wasn’t alone. I didn’t have to figure it out by myself. We could take breaks. We had a homemade breakfast. I didn’t have to drink a protein drink on the way to work because I didn’t have time to digest actual food.

I’ve been having nightmares. It’s the first time I can remember ever being afraid to sleep. Which super sucks because I’m so physically, mentally, and emotionally tired but my brain is being a terrorist and so I’m terrified that if I sleep I’ll have dreams again.

Dreams of rotting teeth or sliding downward and screaming for my mom, or searching the grocery store for the one thing I know I need to get and being unable to find it no matter how hard I look. Or dark monsters who travel from deep in the underworld through tunnels made of bones to attack me.

They’re awful. So awful and I don’t want to have them but I don’t want to take meds so I can’t make myself not dream any more than I could will myself to do it before they started.

I need my life back. I need myself. And deep down, and I want to say I need my mom but I don’t know what good it would do to say that out loud. She’s still going to be dead. She’s still not going to be able to answer the phone.

I want my mom. I may not “need” her the way I need air or water or food, but I want her so badly right now. I want her hug, her scent. I want her words telling me that it’s ok, that I’m safe.

Ox has been doing that a lot today. Whenever we step outside or he’s close to me I reach out and put his hand on my cheek or the top of my head. I don’t know why it makes me feel safer, but it does. It’s helping through today.

Cleaning helped. Eating helped. Showering and meal prepping helped. It’s not fixing anything major, but it’s reminding me that there are shreds of me still left under all of the exhaustion and shattered stress and loss.

I’ve been trying to cross stitch more. I’ve watched all of Cursed on Netflix. I started watching Sweet Tooth. I’ve been cuddling with the kittens and sleeping when I feel tired.

I’m burnt out. Severely. I feel like burnout is its own time of injury and injuries take time to heal. They take rest, and calmness, patience, and understanding. Compassion.

I have two more weeks to go before the new schedule comes out where, in theory, I will be back at my home clinic.

This next week I only work four days. Most of them are shorter days, and one of them is at my home clinic. The next week is another week of 5 days, but two of them are at my home clinic. And then, maybe, possibly, things will get better.

There’s so much more to write about other than my burnout, but this was what I needed to spew the most. I can get through two more weeks. I can get through one week. I can have two days off in a row and survive. I can be something other than work. I can be tired and drained and lost and still be whole; not broken.

That’s something I’m still trying to keep in my mind. I’m still trying to work on being my friend rather than my enemy. I’m still not broken. I’m just really really, tired and that’s ok.

Soon. I’ll be through this soon and maybe then I’ll be able to breadcrumb my way back to me.

Daily Post 158: Saturday Burnout

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Writing from Saturday morning:


Work wasn’t awful yesterday. My FA was there for a bit in the morning but then had to leave to attend meetings in Lincoln. That left me with Float RN and New RN. We got everyone through their treatments and the clinic closed down on time. Go us!

I was dead by the time I got home. Sadly, the kids are here this weekend, so going to bed early wasn’t an option. I did crawl into bed with the lights off, but the TV in the living room was on and I could hear it. The kids kept running in and out of the rooms and chatting and being kids. It’s one of the pieces of friction with the home situation. I’m not able to have the solitude and quietness away from people when I need it, and yesterday and this morning were definitely times where I needed it.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’m starting to fight off a cold again. I was congested for most of the night. I woke up several times even with using the Vix Vapor thingy we have in the room.

When I finally gave up on sleeping this morning, everyone was already up. The thought of having to cook breakfast and dealing with people being under my feet while I tried to do stuff or answering questions and just in general interacting with anything living that wasn’t a cat sucked. It all felt heavy. And that’s how my whole day was going to be; constantly surrounded by demands on energy I didn’t have to give.

The pervasive thought this morning is that it’s almost the three-year mark. Three years since mom died. Soon I will have to find another rose to add to her vase; a sign that I have once again survived to reach another year. A sign that I made it through all of the hard days, all of the good days, each and every day that ticked us closer and closer to “this” day.

It sucks. And knowing that I couldn’t have the one thing I wanted, to be left alone, made it worse.

I did end up making waffles for everyone. I used whole eggs this time instead of egg whites. I didn’t eat with the family, but I was told the waffles were good. I stepped outside with Ox for a cigarette after he had eaten. When I came back inside I curled up in bed under the covers with one of the cats. Mama Ox came to the doorway. Since the lights were off she couldn’t see me.

Mama Ox: Where did she go? It’s like she’s hiding. I thought she came in here but I can’t see her.

Right Brain: Um… yeah. I’m hiding. That’s sort of the point of hiding. To not be found or bothered.

Ox and I had some alone time. He let me cry. I had told him about a dream I had last night which might have added to the frustration I woke up with. I had been in the kitchen trying to do something, but there was trash everywhere that no one had thrown away. There was clutter and friction and all of this “stuff” that I had to work around or take care of before I could begin to do what needed to be done. It felt like I was the only one who cared and that made it all feel pointless. I can’t care for everyone. I can’t be the only one doing things all the time. That’s how people burn out and that’s what I woke up with; a burnt out feeling.

I’m glad to say that things are getting better. I’ve worked through all of the emails in my inbox that I didn’t get to on Tuesday. I’ve replied to posts and even an email from one of my uncles. I have a new niece. I doubt I’ll ever be very close to her, but I’m happy for my cousin. I hope she’s enjoying being a parent. I hope her daughter grows up to have a close relationship with her.

I proofread and posted my last writing. I’ve written this one, not that there’s really much to say. I feel tired. I feel emotionally drained. I still feel slightly confined though not as much as I was when I first woke up. I’m hoping to get through this weekend of rainy ickiness where the kids complain that they’re bored and how there’s nothing to do. I’m hoping one day I will have my dragon’s den and it won’t matter if the kids are here; I’ll still be able to sleep after an exhausting day of work. I’ll still be able to have my silence and solitude without interfering with everyone else’s life.

Today isn’t that day, though. Tomorrow isn’t going to be that day either. Right now I just need to breathe through the tension and realize this is a moment in time. Nothing is bad. Nothing is wrong. Everyone here loves me, it’s just not structured to the needs of an extremely introverted INFJ.

For today, I will be grateful.

I am grateful I had my mom in my life as long as I did. I’m grateful I still have her in my life in the ways that I do. I’m grateful that Ox loves me and tries as hard as he does to make me feel safe and cared for. I’m grateful for my life, even if it’s different than what I thought it was supposed to be.

Hopefully, I can remember those things when the tension starts to swell up again. I AM grateful. Even when things are hard and sad and I’m not alone like I want to be, I am grateful.


Written Sunday morning:

Today is off to a better start than yesterday. Granted, it’s only 6:30 in the morning, but already I have been equally as productive as I was for all of yesterday combined.

I woke up yesterday feeling out of it, and maybe that’s not the right way to describe it. I felt alright, just not up to the task of doing anything or socializing with anyone. It was one of those days where if I still lived in Orlando I would have slept all day and stayed in my room cuddling with Scarlet. Maybe if I had been feeling frisky I would have eaten something.

That’s not possible in the enviornment I live in now, though, and it most certainly isn’t possible while the kids are here.

I helped with breakfast yesterday, but I didn’t eat anything with the family. The bit of time I was in the kitchen with Mama Ox going back and forth and inserting her two cents on topics that didn’t matter and were mostly small talk that I had to fain instrest in had me frayed and feeling overwhelemed. It didn’t help that when I tried to go to the room to get away from it all, she followed me and commented about how I was hiding.

Yes. I’m hiding. Please respect that and leave me alone. >.<;

I wrote yesterday and continued with my posting for my leadership class. I have a handful of reflection sections left to post from the first book. I did buy the second book yesterday even though we won’t be working on it for the class until April. I figured since I’m going to be starting my Human Anatomy class soon that it would be better to try to get as ahead as possible. The next book is Fierce Conversations by Susan Scott. I don’t know much about it, but the audio book is over 13 hours. I may start it up today depending on how things go.

I did start a load of laundry yesterday, but that’s all I did with it. I just switched it over before putting my roast in the oven, so both of those things are going. I’m trying something different with my roast. I used a Grill Mates marinade with it this time since I like how it turns out with chicken so much. We’ll see if it’s a success in about an hour.

Ox and I did go to the store here in town yesterday afternoon. We needed milk and eggs. Mama Ox wanted a new container of cashews. I wanted shredded cheddar cheese for the leftover chili that no one is eating. I got a small bag of the Reese’s snack popcorn that I like.

Other than that, I took a three hour nap yesterday and did a bunch of nothing. I haven’t cooked dinner all week, which I guess isn’t as awful as it sounds. There were leftovers for some of the days, and the others Mama Ox cooked burgers or other simple, quick things that the family liked.

This wasn’t really the best week for me to do much, what with working late and having to travel. Maybe that was part of yesterday; burnout from a rougher week than I had thought it was.

I told Ox last night that I feel like I don’t handle things as well as I used to. I don’t know if that’s me getting older or still being broken from the ordeal that was mom’s death. I don’t remember crying as much during high school, though. I don’t remember feeling as overwhelmed and bombarded by small, simple social interactions. I also didn’t have to deal with them very much for the seven-ish years I lived in Florida. I was able to have my own room and to avoid the world when I wanted to. I still don’t have that option here and so maybe I’m the same it’s just the situations are different. Different stressors, different coping behaviors… I wish I knew.

Ox, for his part, was himself. Ridiculously understanding, supportive, and reassuring. He let me sleep during the day. He dealt with my grouchiness. He held me, encouraging me to take deep breaths when the tension started to build in my chest. He said two months. He doesn’t want me to sleep in the addition with it being so cold. He didn’t want me to sleep in my car either for the same reason when I brought that option up last night. I didn’t want to be away from home, so the thought of a hotel room didn’t sit very well with me.

I just want a quiet space here. A safe space. A “my” space where I belong and I have my things with me instead of them being packed away still in a storage unit I haven’t seen in roughly seven months. I keep thinking in the back of my mind that I’m going to unwrap my china and all of the pieces are going to be broken because of how cold it has been. It’s a shitty thought that doesn’t help anything when my brain is already being a terrorist.

I don’t really know where to go from here as far as my writing goes. Ox said two months. I have my trip next week to see my brother and dad and Mother Earth and Sir. I don’t have a lot of time while I’m there. Maybe I should have tried to plan this better. I don’t think I’ll have time to visit my home clinic. I don’t know if I want to see Warren while I’m there. It will most likely be like pulling teeth and I doubt any headway will be made in regards to the money he owes me. I would like to see my therapist before she retires. I would like to go to the dojo, but I don’t know if I should or not. I haven’t been going to the one here, and though I’ve been better about the gym this past week, I still feel like I’m behind in regards to the workout section of my life.

It was rainy and misirable all day yesterday and it’s suppposed to stay that way for a while. The tempratures are supposed to rise, though. Hopefully spring is arriving and all of this snow will melt and it will be sunny once again. I hope so. I really, really hope that I’m almost at the end of whatever this is and that I do good in school and my yearly review goes well and I eventually get my safe, quiet place and all of this tension and stress and apathy melt away with the snow.

Daily Post 062: A Self-Care Day

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Today is a day off. One which I’m grateful for. It’s 10:17 am and I have yet to do much of anything with the day.

Tuesday’s have a routine. I wake up at Big Bad’s. Usually, I wake up when he first gets out of bed, but I didn’t today. I have nebulous, fuzzy memories of movement, but I didn’t fully wake up. My first real memories of this morning where if him crawling back into bed, burrowing under the covers to tickle me with his freezing hands.

Today was the first day I’ve stayed with him where I didn’t feel well waking up. I was still insanely tired. I had a painful, sharp headache covering most of the front right side of my head.

It was the first time I didn’t feel ready for the day. On one hand, I did feel recharged, refreshed. We had time together when I thought I wouldn’t see him for over two weeks. A co-worker offered to switch days with me this past Saturday which meant even though I worked Monday I was able to leave early enough to have my evening.

It was fantastic. We watched Bad Santa 2 which was crude but funny and mindless. It was low-level stupid humor and really I think it wouldn’t have mattered what we watched. I wasn’t at work interacting with patients. I wasn’t studying for my certification. I wasn’t worrying about money or being frustrated with my roommates. Nothing was required of me aside from being present.

I remember being worried that I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, but I guess I did.

I was pretty sure the headache was from dehydration. I didn’t drink anything on Sunday because I slept most of that day. I don’t really remember the last time I wrote. I worked Wednesday, was off Thursday, which I guess was the last time since I’m pretty sure I wrote about therapy that day.

I didn’t feel better after therapy. I still don’t, but maybe that’s because in eight days it’s my birthday and that thought hurts. This season hurts. I don’t think there’s anything that will make it better, not even therapy.

Anyway, I worked Wednesday, Thursday morning, then did all of my obligations for that day, then turned around and worked Friday and Saturday. It felt like I was at the clinic four days in a row, which in a way I was. Even if Thursday wasn’t a “full day” at the clinic, I was still there and still had an extremely productive day afterward. It wasn’t a rest day by any stretch of the imagination. So by the time I finally got to Sunday I had nothing in me to give.

When I woke up Sunday I went back to sleep. The few times I actually got up were purely for bathroom breaks and food. I guess it would have been smart to drink something while I ate, but I didn’t. I didn’t really start feeling like I was “with it” until around 5pm.

I didn’t shower until around 8 pm and the only reason I did was because I had literally no food for work on Monday.

I knew I didn’t have the energy or motivation to cook so I bought premade salads, something I normally think of as a waste of money, but all I need to do is survive this week, and if not having to cook helps me do that then it’s a good investment.

I got a rotisserie chicken with coleslaw and instant potatoes so I could make meals with that as well as a veggie lasagna which I just got done cooking.

I worked my shift yesterday, Monday. It went fairly smoothly. The patient who was a jerk to me the other day complained to my FA. He pulled me aside and said that she was pissed at me and to not mess with her. He said he had been around me long enough to know her story was BS and that he knew I wasn’t disrespectful or rude to her the way she was saying. He said she’s like that to the people at her nursing home, too, and to just let it be water under the bridge.

It made me feel cared for that all of my team members who this woman talked to didn’t believe her story. It made it easier to not care about her opinion. If she wants a target to be angry at, fine. I’ll be her target. I have 11 other patients every day who need and want my help during her shift. If she doesn’t want to interact with me then that means I have more time and energy for those other 11 people.

Monday I helped mix acid again. Next time I’ll be the one doing all of the work while my trainer supervises me. I might want her to watch me twice just to make sure, but overall it’s a fairly easy process.

I also had to make a billion CVC kits. Ok… not really a billion, but I did 20 termination packs during my first break, which yes, I do catch a lot of flak for working during my break. I like doing it, though. The stockroom is always empty. Making packs is organized and structured. It’s one of the few times I can sit and listen to music and de-stress, and a lot of the times it’s too busy on the floor to step away and make the packs during the day, so yeah, I don’t mind spending 15 of my 30 minute break alone doing something mindlessly structured away from people. I’m ok with spending that time being anti-social.

Not only did I do the 20 termination kits, I also did 30 initiations and 30 tego packs before I left the clinic because ALL of the CVC bins were empty. That’s in addition to the 24 needle packs I made while I was on the floor.

Yes. That’s a lot.

At the moment we have a lot of new patients with CVCs rather than graphs and fistulas. On TTS days we have 18 patients with CVCs. That means almost all of the termination packs I made yesterday will be gone by tonight along with over half of the initiation packs. Packs need to be made, but there’s rarely downtime to do it. It’s annoying. It’s something that I’m going to bring up in our meeting along with organizing the drawers on the floor. I’ve been at the clinic long enough to have confidence in speaking up, and I feel I have earned the respect of my coworkers enough to be heard when I make suggestions.

Anyway, Monday was a pretty full day with little sleep and little recovery time from the previous week. I was glad to leave the clinic. I was glad I had my evening ahead of me, and I was glad Tuesday was a day off.

So here I am. Back at home. Today is a much different day than how my Tuesday’s usually go, though, and all of that has to do with being so tired and sick feeling this morning.

Normally I would leave Big Bad’s and come home to start chores before going to training. After training would be showering and eating before going to donate plasma. Once I finish with donating I normally go to my sports bar to eat and study. The rest of the may have a few more chores like finishing meal prep or some such, but those are the main things for my Tuesdays and Thursdays recently.

That’s not how today is going to go at all. The first thing I did aside from drinking water was cancel my training. I told L I wasn’t feeling well and asked if it would be ok to try to meet Thursday. She said that was fine and that she would message me tomorrow to see if I was feeling better.

With my first obligation of the day taken care of, I went back to sleep on the couch. I slept until 9ish. When I woke up my headache was gone, which confirmed it was most likely from dehydration or a combination of dehydration and tiredness. I had more water before trudging into the kitchen. I put the lasagna I bought Sunday in the oven, ate breakfast, then went back to sleep again.

The lasagna is done and now I’m left to figure out the rest of my day.

I’m not going to be donating today. I don’t think it would be a good idea and I don’t want to risk having a bad donation on the one day I have before going back to work. I’ve been going at life pretty hard. I want a day to myself that’s actually relaxing that I’m conscious long enough to actually remember.

There are a few chores I need to do, like cleaning the litter box, but laundry is done, food is taken care of, so aside from paying bills there’s not much else to do.

Rest. Not get sick. Self-care. Those are the things on my to-do list for today.

I took the practice test for my certification Saturday night. I got a passing grade on it, though it wasn’t as high as I wanted it to be. Since this is my blog, and I’m supposed to be honest here, I passed with a 75. You need a 75 to pass, so I barely made it.

Most of the questions I missed were from the chapters I haven’t read yet, so there’s a small amount of comfort from that. Some of the questions were about medications, which I don’t think will be covered. Those questions fall into the category of “what the actual fuck” for me since that content isn’t listed anywhere in the study material. If I knew I needed to know it, I would study it, thus why I got it wrong, because I didn’t have the information to study.

It’s one of the reasons I hate certification tests. There’s always bullshit questions that lower your grade and make you feel like a failure because you didn’t get a perfect grade even though you aren’t a failure.

So yeah, right now I got a barely passing 75 on the practice test, but I have a better idea of what I need to be looking at, mainly the stuff I haven’t looked at yet. I’m happy to say that for the 75% I got right, I was extremely confident with the material. I’m not scared of the actual test and I’m on track for having everything taken care of during the first week of January. It’s going to cost me an extra $50 to have the process expedited, but I’m ok with paying the cost to have it over and done with before classes start.

Pretty much the only thing I plan to do today is to go to my sports bar to study. I feel like having a good meal with some solitude would be beneficial. That way I’m not staying at home “wasting” the day away. I still progress even if it’s just a little bit, and it’s not a taxing or intense obligation that will deplete me for tomorrow.

I have two more days to get through at work. Wednesday, then two days off, then Saturday. Sunday there’s a meeting at the clinic, but it shouldn’t last too long, and once it’s over my week off begins. I still haven’t figured out what to do during my week, but maybe that’s something I can figure out today. While I’m paying bills I can sit and figure out how to divide up my $500 of birthday / Christmas money.

Kyle may have a job by the end of the week. His former employer got in touch with him. Kyle’s essentially hired, provided he passes the background, which there’s no reason he wouldn’t. That would be amazing. If he could actually start paying rent… My brain can’t even begin to process my finances improving that much. Having an “extra” $400 to put towards my debt… and if Warren keeps to his word and begins actually paying me back, not just making his monthly rent payments…

In the coming new year, my financial situation might not be the dark depressing forever nothingness that has been eating away at me for months. I’ll have my dollar raise from my certification, and people will be keeping their word, and things won’t suck, and might actually be ok.

I haven’t allowed myself to think of things “being ok” because it felt like such an impossible, foreign thing. But now there are actions and data to support the “being ok” idea and those thoughts bring such a feeling of relief that I want to cry.

It would mean I’m not the failure I feel like. I would actually be adulting well enough. I would be making progress to being able to live alone, to getting away from the dependency I once again placed myself in. Maybe, finally, I will have learned this lesson.

It’s something I talked about in therapy, and it might be the main reason I don’t feel better from having gone. I think my therapist is frustrated with me because I did the same thing with Kyle that I did with Warren, that I did with pretty much every person I’ve lived with.

We talked about boundaries and protecting myself financially.

I don’t want to stop helping the people I care about. I help people the way I would want to be helped if I was in a shitty situation. There is a point where it’s harmful, though. I’m not going to sit here and type about “how I’m learning where that line is” and other inspiration BS like that because I honestly don’t know if I’m learning that or not.

I know I am learning that I’m tired of people’s bullshit. I’m tired of being burned for helping. I’m tired of not being able to help myself because I’ve injured myself in my effort to help.

I don’t know if that’s gaining wisdom or becoming jaded. And right now, a little over a year and a half after my mother’s death, eight days before I turn 29, I don’t care which it is.

I know I am driving a stake into the ground, splitting the Earth beneath me as if I’m throwing down Thor’s hammer. I’m done being “here”. I’m done sinking back into this situation and feeling these feelings.

I WILL NOT knowingly do this to myself again.

Mom isn’t here to help me. There’s isn’t a bailout option for me. There isn’t the coping mechanism of a phone call to help me deal with the stress. There’s only me and if I want to be there for myself I have to protect and look after me.

So yeah… That’s about it. I’m tired but I’m hanging in there. I think things will get better soon and until then I’m not feeling bad about doing the things I need to do to keep going.

I’m going to keep fighting the fight even if that means some days I don’t fight at all.